


All we did was thread the eye...

by chaletian



Series: The Once + Future King [2]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Gen, Modern Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-26
Updated: 2012-12-26
Packaged: 2017-11-22 12:05:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/609641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaletian/pseuds/chaletian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jen looks round, startled. Nobody challenges the Monitors. It's a bloke she's never seen before, dark haired and skinny and unimpressive. His suit is cheap and his tie is crooked and Jen sighs to herself because the Monitors will find something to get him on in no time at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All we did was thread the eye...

Jen suspects she has the worst job in the world, but she's drowning in student debt and there's not exactly an abundance of work out there for people these days, so she's not in a position to quibble. Jen's lucky she's got a job, really. She knows the stats; she's not stupid. She's young, she's working class and her dad's black. The only way she'd have worse employment prospects would be if she'd been born male. Still, waitressing in the House of Commons canteen leaves a lot to be desired, especially when Monitors are in there night and day, checking everyone's records. It's endless. They give speeches about how Commons employees must be above reproach, every record checked and re-checked, day after day, but Jen's noticed that it's never the ministers who get checked, never the MPs. It's the typists, the clerks, the under-under-under-secretaries, and the people like Jen.

There's a Monitor in today, of course, and they line up, one by one, behind the canteen counter. “Jennifer Thompson” comes up clean, and it's always a relief; there's always a fear, however paranoid, that you'll hear a... There's a loud beep. Matt's record is red. He's taken away, and Jen resists the urge to protest.

“Wait a sec, where are they taking him?” someone asks, and Jen looks round, startled. Nobody challenges the Monitors. It's a bloke she's never seen before, dark haired and skinny and unimpressive. His suit is cheap and his tie is crooked and Jen sighs to herself because the Monitors will find something to get him on in no time at all.

“Well, he's obviously done something wrong,” the stranger's companion points out. “That's what the Monitors are for, idiot.”

Jen recognises this guy, Savile Row suit and signet ring and posh blond hair. He's an MP (Government, not Opposition, not that there's much difference between the two) and most likely a complete dick, and he's arguing with the stranger.

“God knows why I even hired you.”

“I think it had something to do with my rhetorical brilliance.”

“I think it had something to do with too much beer. Which I now regret, by the way.”

“Not possible. A child couldn't get drunk on the piss they serve in the King's Arms.”

“You know I can just fire you, right?”

“Well, if you're admitting you can't deal with my unrelenting genius...”

“Unrelenting sounds about right.”

The two men move off and Jen carries on her day. As she walks home, head down, trying to steer clear of the Monitors in the streets, she wonders if this is how the world will always be. She wonders if there will ever be anyone to make a difference. She wonders if she should make a difference.


End file.
